Dawn broke without warning.
No clouds parted. No light descended from the heavens.
It simply came, as it always did.
But this time, it touched a different world.
The valley where they had fought was still quiet. Stones lined with names remained warm from the night before. The soil had begun to shift not in protest, but in healing. Tiny blades of green grass pushed through the ash.
For the first time since he drew Akreth, Eren felt no fire beneath his ribs.
Only breath.
He stood alone at the edge of camp, cloak drawn around him, the wrapped blade across his back. He didn't need to touch it to feel its presence. The sword had become more than weight or weapon. It was a part of him now. Not a curse. Not a burden.
Just a choice he had made.
Syra approached from the east.
Her gait was more relaxed than usual. Her daggers were still at her hips, but her hands rested open.
"No signs of pursuit."
Eren nodded.
"No more Hollow Flame. No Covenant scouts. Even the Circle's quiet."
Syra raised an eyebrow.
"Unnerving, isn't it?"
"A little."
She glanced at the sunrise.
"So. What now?"
Elira joined them before he could answer.
She wore a new cloak, gifted by one of the Ashbound. It was dark blue, lined with pale threads that shimmered when the wind shifted.
"There's a river three days south," she said. "A village along its bank is rebuilding. They've asked if we'd send them someone. To teach. To help rebuild the well."
Syra smirked.
"Did they offer anything in return?"
Elira smiled.
"A song. And shelter."
Eren listened in silence.
Then said,
"We go."
They both looked at him.
Elira tilted her head.
"Just like that?"
"We're not warriors anymore," Eren said.
"We're not running. Not resisting. We're rebuilding."
He turned to face the rest of the camp, which was beginning to stir.
Children emerged from tents rubbing their eyes. Older scouts stretched and checked supplies. The Ashbound moved with quiet reverence, cleaning stones, replacing wards with small woven charms made from grass and fireglass.
It no longer looked like a camp preparing for war.
It looked like a place.
A beginning.
He called them all together before midday.
No platform. No speech prepared. Just a circle of people who had chosen to remain.
"You followed me through fire," he said.
"You stood beside me when the world forgot our names."
He glanced at the wrapped blade.
"And now that the fire has dimmed, you still remain."
He let silence settle.
"This sword will not lead anymore. It will walk beside."
He looked at them each in turn.
"And we will go forward. Not as a flame to be feared. But as a light to be shared."
Elira stepped forward, hand raised.
"I second that."
Syra followed, arms crossed.
"Long as we don't get soft."
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
One of the children, a girl no older than ten, lifted a small carved stone into the air.
"What should we call ourselves?"
Dozens of voices stirred.
Suggestions were tossed.
The Remembered.
The Flamebound.
The Bearers.
The Unforgotten.
Eren held up a hand.
"No name today."
He smiled softly.
"We don't need one yet."
That night, they sang.
No war chants. No prophecy.
Just songs from different places, different memories, shared under one sky.
Akreth rested quietly beside the fire, wrapped in cloth, untouched.
And above them, the stars returned.
Not as omen.
But as witness.